The Stray Road
by WhimsicalCivet
Summary: Set primarily in the 2003 'Verse, with mentions of the first movie and the '07 film. Rated M for language and violence. It seems, sometimes, as if our dear brothers can make no new acquaintance without finding themselves in a great deal of trouble. But perhaps it will be worth it to them - if they can help their new friend survive. Leo/OC, with a little April/Casey.


Chapter 1

_"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue."_  
_Steve McCroskey_

* * *

The first time I saw them, they didn't see me.

I was passing through an alleyway – New York had plenty of them – when the sounds of some sort of fight overhead reached my ears. No one else was in the alley, so the only place it could be was up. A quick glance around revealed no handy fire escapes for me to climb up like in the movies. Fortunately, one of the buildings bordering the alley was abandoned.

Curiosity killed the cat, or so the saying goes. _But_…

It didn't take long to find an opening in the boards covering some of the basement windows. It was a tight squeeze, and it was predictably dark inside, but I found the stairs up to the roof. It was an effort trying to ignore the reek of trash and urine and graffiti that hung heavy in the closed space.

The door to the roof was almost off its hinges, requiring little effort to nudge it open. Cautiously and quietly, I peered through the now open doorway. What I saw the next roof over stopped me in my tracks.

There were four of them: twisting, writhing human shapes leaping across the rooftop. My vision was good at night, and I slunk closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look. It took a moment for my brain to process what I was seeing. Trying to protect my sanity, no doubt.

They looked like… turtle costumes? But if they were turtle costumes, what were they doing on the roof? In the middle of the night? I knew New York had people from all walks of life, sure, but seeing four people running and jumping around dressed as reptiles was something different altogether. They'd even gone the extra length and tied different colored bandanas around their heads. So their costumes didn't get mixed up, I could only assume.

In short, it was bizarre, even for the Big Apple.

Interpretive dance, maybe?

That was when I noticed the weapons. They were hard to miss, once I saw the glint of metal: one of them was carrying two goddamn _swords_ like they were in some old kung fu movie. And each of them seemed to have a weapon: one had a large stick, another those… nunchucks, that's what they were. I remembered lying in front of the TV watching some idiot swing those things around until he ended up smacking himself in the nuts. The one who was swinging them at that moment appeared to have a great deal more skill. The last one was carrying some sort of… actually, I had no idea what those weapons were. All I could see was that they had three points and looked a little too sharp.

One of them, the one with the red bandana, shouted something and took a swipe with his three-pointed-daggers - _what the hell were those things_? - at the costumer in blue. Blue was apparently ready for it, because they avoided the attack easily. They also dodged the attack from Purple's staff, landing a sharp-sounding smack on its shell with the flat of one of those nasty looking swords before a low kick took Purple down. The noise sounded real and painful enough that I winced. Weren't they worried about damaging their costumes? But if the dull '_Thunk_!' the sword blade made upon impact was any indication, that particular part of the costume was not so easy to damage. They must have invested hundreds of dollars in those costumes. They looked so_ real_.

Purple mumbled something. I couldn't hear what. Then Blue responded, extending a hand to help Purple up. Not fighting, I realized dumbly. They were practicing. But practicing for what? Surely it'd be easier without those bulky costumes, not to mention maybe practicing with, I don't know, a _gun_ instead of weapons supposedly made obsolete decades or centuries ago by firearms. It was weird. _They_ were weird. Weirdos in costumes practicing with old weapons. But it was New York, and I knew some of those convention-goers could get pretty bizarre. I was about ready to write them off as just some guys or gals with silly hobbies.

Then the wind changed. The moon came out. And I started to realize that those costumes looked just a little too realistic in the new light, no buttons or zippers anywhere. And the way one turned their head towards my building: naturally, fluidly, with no tension or bulging of what was looking less and less like a costume.

Fearing for my sanity and wondering what I had eaten to make me hallucinate so, I got out of there as fast as I could.

The next night, I kept my ears open as I roamed the streets, listening for the sounds of fighting or sparring (I'd finally remembered that word, sparring), but it was quiet; or at least, as quiet as New York could ever be.

Without them there in front of me, I managed to convince myself that all I'd seen were some particularly expensive costumes. For a time, at least.

* * *

The second time I saw them, they saw me.

That night found me again trotting down a side street. It had been a long day and I needed to blow off some steam before heading back home. No one ever bothered me, except for the occasional man with a catch pole, but I could avoid those particular obstacles with ease.

The alleyway I was in was particularly rancid that warm evening. I dodged a man scrounging through the garbage before I realized I was close to the buildings where I'd seen the turtle-people. _Costumed_ turtle people, I reminded myself. I hadn't seen or heard anything for days. Would it be safe to head up to that rooftop to see what I could find? I probably wouldn't find anything, but…

I went for it. I knew how to find my way back – I always did. I just had to follow the trail. Someone had been in the building since I'd left it – probably a few homeless people looking for shelter. Whoever it was had also replaced the old boards over the broken basement window that had served as my previous entrance. This time I had to jimmy a handle on the stairway door to get in. I shut it behind me, and made my way through the small hallway to the stairs, past other doors that I left closed. Up the stairs and out the door I went. Cautiously, I circled around the rooftop. They'd been on this side, too; probably after I'd left. The dust on the roof stirred up. We hadn't had any rain for a little while, and I could barely make out footprints: mine and theirs. I stared at the impressions, and as I did, they started to look less and less like normal tracks. Two toes, which was odd. How far were they going with this whole costume thing?

A noise startled me. I darted back behind a cooling unit on the roof, pressed myself against the metal, and listened.

There were voices… three of them that I could hear. One was laughing. _Shit_, I had time to think. Were they coming this way? There was no escape route save the way I'd come in, and they were getting closer.

"Stop." I crouched lower. The stern voice hadn't been directed at me, I didn't think, but I could feel the command in it. I lifted one foot, unsure. I tried to estimate how much space there was between me and the door.

"_Whaaat_?" Someone whined. "Come on, I need to get home to watch my zombie special! Braaains!"

"Quiet, Mikey. There's someone here."

I froze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. _Not good_.

All their sound stopped. I couldn't hear them moving or breathing. No one spoke. Maybe they'd left?

After a few minutes, I poked my head around the edge of the cooling unit…

Only to come face-to-face with the end of a katana blade. My eyes followed the blade up, passed over the hilt, focusing briefly on the _very_ strange hand holding it, to find Blue's masked face, his _freaking turtle face_, staring back at me with an inscrutable look. At my appearance, he sighed and pulled the blade away. "It's fine. It's just a dog."

Right, I reminded myself, as I grabbed the part of me that wanted to run away screaming and shoved it down into a box in the back of my mind. Just a dog. No reason for them to be suspicious. Just… _act like a dog_. Turtles didn't eat dogs, did they?

"Bro, you pulled yer sword on a dog? Way to go. Sure showed it." I couldn't figure out who'd said that, because the rest of them were coming closer and _holy shit_, those weapons were bigger up close.

"Aw," Orange cooed. "It's so cute! Who's a nice doggy? Who's a nice doggy?" He crouched down in front of me and put his hand out for me to sniff. I did so, politely as I could, because that was what dogs did. And there was a reason dogs greeted people like this. I knew far more about him now than I had a moment ago. Orange's scent was all excitement and comic pages. He'd had pizza recently - heavy on the pepperoni, and he spent a fair amount of time underground. He lived in close quarters with four others. He had a substantial DVD collection. The fur along my spine stood up as I sorted through all the new sensory information. I was fairly certain now.

They _were_ real.

But this couldn't be happening. It just... couldn't. Turtle people? In New York? Sure, there was the whole alligator-in-the-sewer myth, and Godzilla liked to attack New York when he was done with Japan, but giant, talking turtles with weapons were in a different category all together. They'd been _elegant_ on that rooftop the last time I'd seen them, and their speed had been far quicker than I'd have expected from one of the slowest animals on the planet, bipedal or no. Things just continued to make no sense. As if it had sensed my weakness, hysteria tried to flail its way out of the box I'd stuffed it in.

"Be careful, Mikey. She's probably a stray and, statistically speaking, the likelihood of a stray dog in New York carrying a disea-"

"Aw, come on, she looks fine!" I heard from one, probably Orange. He was clearly the dog person of the group.

Red twisted his head to get a better look at me and said, "How'd you know it's a girl dog?"

"I can just see the lower half of her body where she's crouching behind the duct. There's no, ah…" Purple seemed to be looking for a delicate way to put it, but Red had no such problems.

"Ah, yeah. I see it. Dog's got no junk."

Orange started snickering as he wandered back over to the others. Purple had this look on his face – I was sure they were all male, now. They _smelled_ male, despite the newness of the scent – of pure exasperation. Turtle faces shouldn't look exasperated, I had to remind myself. No matter how much like normal people they acted, these things were clearly far from.

I glanced nervously back at Blue. His weapon had been the one pointed at me, after all, so he was the biggest threat. Worse, he hadn't said anything yet. He was just watching me. I couldn't quite read his body language but it felt… vaguely sympathetic. He must have seen me staring up at him, because a little smile quirked one corner of his mouth and his eyes softened with the expression. It helped the more feral side of me relax. "Poor thing," I heard him murmur. "How'd you get up here?" One of the turtles was lecturing about distemper and tetanus and _rabies? _He really thinks I could have _rabies? Come on!_ Orange kept interjecting about all the places that they could stick a dog bed. Red talked about fleas and how dogs chewed everything up.

Blue bent down on one knee, body turned slightly to the side, and held out a hand. He didn't invade my space. He was just offering an invitation. My tail tucked itself in, but I leaned closer and took in the scent. My fear may have been strong, but my curiosity was winning out. Part of me still couldn't believe they weren't human, but scents… scents don't lie. Blue smelled different from Orange: this was leather and metal, cleaning oil and a very faint trace of incense. My jaws opened slightly, letting the air hit the roof of my mouth. _Young-adult male, green tea four hours ago, no sickness, calm. _Underneath that, his 'base scent', for lack of a better word, only confirmed what my nose had been telling me all along: _not human_. When I didn't bite him, Blue turned his hand and rubbed his knuckles very gently under my chin. Despite his appearance, he didn't seem to want to hurt me, and a little scratch always felt nice to a dog. Some of my hackles reluctantly smoothed down.

"But she's sooo adorable. We can call her Fluffy! Hey, maybe she can be my sidekick?"

"You already got a pet, Mikey. And, 'sides, that's a stupid name. All that Alpha shit, she'll end up followin' _me_ around, and I ain't gonna have a dog followin' me called Fluffy-"

"Ah, I don't think you guys get to choose." I glanced over to see Purple with a hand over his mouth, as if trying to hold back a chuckle. "Pretty sure she's already made a friend." Blue jerked his hand back and tried to look as if he hadn't just been petting the stray dog. Liar.

"But-but, she was going to be Turtle Dog! We were gonna fight crime!" Orange groaned.

The idea of a giant turtle and a stray dog being defenders of the weak struck me as amusing and I would have laughed if I could. Maybe I'd get a mask, too. But then a realization hit me. Suddenly, my urge to laugh was gone, because is he _actually trying to adopt me_?

"We're not keeping her," Blue said firmly. _Oh, thank God_. "She probably belongs to someone. We'll take her to April's and she can take the dog to a shelter."

I wasn't sure if dogs could have panic attacks, but I was doing my best.

"But what if she doesn't belong to anyone?" Orange hurried over to pat me on the head, which I tolerated while I tried to calculate whether or not throwing myself off the roof would result in death or if I'd manage to land right and get away. "We can't just leave her alone forever in the pound! That's like, like, doggie prison! Haven't you seen Lady and the Tramp, dude?"

"As much as I hate to say it, he's right, you know. There are a lot of stray animals in the city. Even if someone's looking, they might not find her." Purple rubbed a hand over his mouth thoughtfully. "I _do_ have the necessary equipment for vaccinations back at the Lair. She'd have a warm place to sleep, at least until we find somewhere for her to go." Then, under his breath, "I could fit a dog bed under my workshop bench…"

I appreciated their concern, really. And they liked dogs. Good sign. But being taken back to some 'lair' was not in my plans. Besides, I'd never heard of anyone other than a super villain having a home that could be referred to as a lair. 'Come down to my lair for tea and cookies!' I cackled in my mind. Said _no kindly grandmother ever_.

I contemplated biting Orange and taking off, but I held out hope. Blue appeared to be the one their subtle, and not so subtle, pleas were aimed at. I wasn't sure what I'd do if they tried to drag me 'home'. They had weapons, after all, and I didn't fancy becoming a doggy shish kabob if my escape attempt turned violent. I swallowed a whine of gratefulness when Blue shook his head. "We're not set up for a dog, and she could belong to someone. Besides, are we really the best people to be taking care of a dog? It's a lot of responsibility."

"Leo, itsa' _dog_, not a baby. And we already take care of Mikey. A dog'll be easy after that," Red snorted, ignoring the indignant 'Hey!' from Orange.

"I…" Blue let out a sigh at Orange's groan. "Maybe, _maybe_, if no one claims her and it's ok with Sensei, we can think about it again and-"

"Woohoo!" Orange whooped, rubbing an enthusiastic hand over my ears. "You're gonna' love April, Fluffy. She's cool. Not as cool as me, of course. No one is as cool as me, but she's nice and you'll stay with her, and then you can come to our place! You'll like the Lair-" I let him chatter on as Purple strung a makeshift leash of rope around my neck. Huh. What else did he have hiding in that belt? I tried to play the part of a good dog while he leashed me. I made sure to give him no reason to tighten the rope. First chance I got, I was bolting. And at that moment, the only way out was the same way they were going. I couldn't get away yet and this would go better if they didn't think I was going to run off at any moment.

"Huh." Purple took a few steps and I followed diligently. "She has to belong to someone. It looks like she's already leash trained."

I kept in step with him down the stairs of the building as Blue took the lead and Orange and Red took the rear while continuing their argument about acceptable names for dogs. Despite the conversation, everyone's steps were quiet. Freaky quiet. I was right in the middle of trying to figure out how giant turtles with weapons moved so silently when Blue held up a hand at one of the doors. "Not this one. Sounds like there might be someone digging around out there. We'll use the door behind the staircase."

I was already turning in that direction when I felt eyes on me. I craned my head back and saw Blue and Purple watching. Blue's gaze felt particularly piercing. Upon reviewing my steps, I realized my blunder: I'd turned before they had. I'd reacted to their words, rather than their bodies or the tug of a leash. I tried to play it off, wagging my tail a little and taking a few steps back, saying, as clearly as I could: _Nothing to see here, just a dumb old dog! Move along, folks!_

Blue didn't look convinced.

Purple bought it, though, and gave me a scratch on the ears. "You dogs are funny, sometimes. It's like you can understand us."

Blue shook his head and moved on. And when I stepped out into the alley, I had to wait for just the right moment. A distraction was what I needed. This may have been a different door than the one I'd come in, but it didn't matter. I could get home if I could just get away.

Blue pushed open a manhole cover near the end of the alley once the traffic cleared.

Please, please, _please_.

Red shoved at Orange behind me.

_Come on_…

A car horn honked.

_Look away_!

Purple turned to glance back and his grip, already slack on the leash, loosened for a second.

A second was all I needed.

I could hear Orange shout as I barreled down the alley, rope dragging behind me as I skidded around a corner. A glance up showed me what I thought was a silhouette near the fire escape. I let out a yip and swerved, ending up out in the street. Dodging the late-night traffic made me momentarily regret my decision to run, especially when the leash caught under a car tire and it tightened around my neck. I heard horns honking as my vision sparked black, but then the car moved and I was running again before the driver could even get out of his car.

I'm not sure how much time I spent running. I know it was a while. I also know it took me a few minutes to stop and jerk and struggle the leash off my neck before I ran for a bit longer. Eventually, though, I felt safer. A look around showed me a familiar neighborhood. I hadn't meant to head back towards home territory. The thought occurred to me that I could have led someone right to my home if I had kept galloping along in my blind panic, but I was also fairly confident in my own speed. A dog is fast, and I was surely running more than fast enough to ditch any pursuit. My tongue lolled out of my mouth in a heavy pant as I trotted towards what I called my Pick-Up Zone.

It's not much, really: A little abandoned, grassy lot with an equally abandoned playground surrounded by wooden fences. They'd be knocking it down later that year and putting up a new area for the kids, so I'd have to find somewhere else eventually, but for  
now, it was safe. I passed an old mirror that someone had ditched there once upon a time, and stopped to get a good look at myself.

I wasn't a big dog, not really, but I wasn't small, either. I weighed maybe forty-five or fifty pounds. The dog in the mirror was too small to be very threatening, but large enough that most people would think twice before trying to grab it. The mirror also showed short, black-and-white patchwork fur with a few sprinkles of grey spots. The fur was a little thicker around the ruff, and one ear was floppy. Nothing too beautiful, and nothing too ugly. I didn't like drawing attention to myself.

I stared for a few moments before leaving the mirror behind. Somewhere in this lot was an old tree with a hole near the roots. Inside that hole was my stuff and everything I needed to get back home. I took a moment to sniff around, making sure no one was nearby. Last thing I needed was for someone to see what I was up to.

I passed the mirror again on the way out. Only this time, it wasn't a dog looking back at me.

It was a human.

Back in my human shape, with my human senses, I never noticed the shape on the rooftop above me as I slipped between the boards and out to the quiet street.

The next time I saw them, they knew me for what I was.


End file.
